While Pencils Move
©Chris Pepple 2013
It’s
that time of day again. It’s two o’clock in the afternoon. The laundry smells
fresh from the scent of my fabric softener I used this morning. A warm spinach
and feta cheese aroma lingers in the kitchen from our pizza we completely
devoured. The cats have settled into their comfy spots for an afternoon siesta.
My daughters are stretched out in the floor in front of me. One has an open
math book. The other one has her history book opened to a section on World War
II. She is reading and taking notes.
These
moments are times I cherish. I look over my computer screen and watch my
daughters learning and growing. I remember when their legs didn't stretch out
this far. I also remember when their homework involved mostly coloring or
cutting and gluing. Now they think intensely as the wrinkle their brows over
historical facts and mathematical fractions.
I close
my eyes for a moment and listen to the sounds of their pencils moving across
their papers. I wait for this sound every weekday afternoon. To me it is a
sound of togetherness and stillness. The sound of pencils moving across paper
ties me to the memories of their earliest days of learning. I picture myself
writing a letter on lined paper and asking them to copy my work. With wiggly
lines, they began the assignment. We clapped when they completed the task.
Now they
don’t need me as much. They start and complete most tasks on their own. I am
more of an observer and a motivator these days. Occasionally my daughters get
stuck on a problem and call my name. I can tell when that is about to happen.
First, one of the pencils stops moving across the paper. I glance in that
direction, careful not to jump in too quickly. I watch the eyes and brows to
see if tension rises or clarity pops in. If tension rises, soon I will hear,
“Mom, can you help me for a minute.” I
move over and look at the problem. We chat for a minute about the question at
hand. Then I hear, “OK, I've got it now.” That’s my cue to move back to my seat
so the pencil can move freely across the paper again.
These moments never last long
enough for me. I want to sit next to them for hours as they conquer the
challenges before them. But all too soon I must move from the scene to start
dinner or pay bills or take a phone call from a client. The mail waits to be
opened. The flowers need watering. I need to check in with a friend and a few
relatives who need a call. Sometimes the moment ends when one daughter gets
restless and can’t sit any longer. She usually doesn't admit that. Instead she
provokes the other daughter into an argument so she can claim to be the victim
and get a break.
But when I hear the sound of
pencils moving across paper, I feel a sense of peace and hope. I feel secure
about their futures for a moment. I can set aside my worries that arise each
time I hear a news report about another mass shooting or teen who died while
texting and driving. I can stop worrying about how I will pay for their college
tuition. I relax and soak up the moment as we all sit in one room with our
minds exploring new thoughts or new approaches to the past.
I hope when I am older, they return
home for a visit and sit next to me with pencils in hand. I will ask them to
jot down to-do lists or items I need from the store. They may need to write
dates of appointments on my calendar for me. They will think I am old-fashioned
for not putting it all on a computer. They may also think that the tasks are
mundane. But as they write, I know that I will close my eyes and pictures all
of our moments together when they were younger and I heard pencils moving
across the paper.
(This story may be forwarded or reproduced
with credit given to Chris Pepple as author. This story may not be sold or
edited by any other person other than the original author.)
